Boring as the Weather Report
Created | Updated Mar 3, 2018
Boring as the Weather Report
Today's forecast: Fair, warmer, or early morning volcanoes.
Walt Kelly
The organist warmed up the Leslie and started playing moodily. He resisted the urge to look out the window. He knew what was going on out there: ambient temperature, -3°C. Humidity: 100%. No lie, Sherlock: snow was falling in thick, fat flakes. From the street came the drone of a snow blower, amplified at intervals by the louder rumble of the town's snow ploughs coming through in a futile effort to halt the snowpocalypse. Noise, noise, noise, he grumbled. Worse were the periodic wails of the sirens. Fender-benders abounded in this weather, and the only emergency services available were at the fire station down the street. The only way the fire department could assemble its volunteers was by means of an ancient siren, unattached to mermaids. The siren could be heard a mile away, but its epicentre was located mere yards distant from the Gheorgheni mansion. The siren's unmusical keening, like a wah-wah pedal on meths, interrupted the organist's sleep, and threatened to invade the latest Heavy Leslie effort, which he'd tentatively titled Haß auf den Grundsau1.
'It's like living in the Blitz,' he sighed. 'Only with snow.'
In between the various hymns of snow-hate, he recorded. As he headed upstairs for the computer and some video-making software, he stopped suddenly. What's that? he thought. A new sound: a deeper rumbling, from the direction of the backyard. He grabbed the stair railing as the earth beneath him shook.
'Elektra!' he yelled. 'I think we've got moles! Huge moles!'
Elektra emerged, confused, from the laundry room. Together, they ran to the side porch. The sight that greeted their eyes seemed to have come from a recurring childhood nightmare Elektra had told him about: the backyard had erupted in a volcano2. A mound of earth was arising between the raised garden bed and the baby apple tree. The mound was spitting lava, an unheard-of occurrence in western Pennsylvania. Wow, that's one for the record books, he thought.
'That's one way to clear the snow,' he mused aloud, then ducked as Elektra threatened him with a recently-dried towel. They went inside and, against Dmitri's better judgement, called 911.
Fire sirens wailed again. The earth continued to shake. The doorbell rang, but Dmitri, being rather deaf, failed to hear it amid all the din. Fortunately, Elektra did, and opened the door to admit a team of burly adventurers who looked loaded and ready for bear. Unfortunately, the bear emergency was last summer. The team beamed with excitement as they tracked snow all over the carpets.
'There's a volcano?' inquired the leader, who looked suspiciously like Bruce Willis. But it couldn't have been Bruce Willis: he comes from Philadelphia.
Elektra nodded. 'It's in the backyard.' She showed them.
'Probably a result of fracking,' was the conclusion. 'We'll have to tunnel under and tap the gas to stop the eruption. We can start in the cellar.'
'We don't have a cellar.'
Bruce shrugged. 'That's okay, we can make one. We'll start in the garage.'
More noise, more digging. Workmen came and went, tracking snow and dirt. The dog got very excited, begging for attention. The cats hid under the beds. Elektra made coffee, and the workers ate all of the gluten-free cake. They liked it. The volcano began to subside to a duller glow.
Just when Dmitri was beginning to think he might get back to his organ, there was another crash. This time, it was on the street in front of the house. Again, the earth moved, but not in a good way, thought Dmitri. Everybody rushed outside to discover an ultralight plane crashed in the middle of Liberty Street. The pilot was unharmed.
'I knew I should have turned left at Punxsutawney,' he grinned.
More sirens wailed. More emergency crews came. After much discussion, somebody called a tow truck. They'd run out of snack food, so somebody else called over to Domino's Pizza, which was practically behind the house. The dog enthusiastically stole pepperoni, and drank coffee from cups carelessly left on the floor. She knew she wasn't supposed to do that, and she was secretly proud of herself. Discovering the pepperoni theft, Dmitri was displeased. Sausage gave the dog gas, and she slept on the bed.
The volcano was successfully tapped. Domino's made a handsome offer for the gas, which was accepted gratefully. After scarfing up several slices of three-cheese pizza, the ultralight pilot was taken away by ambulance for a check-up at the local hospital. The emergency crew suspected brain damage, but Dmitri thought he was probably always like that. Dmitri was mentally composing tunes in his head when the phone rang. Instead of the usual robocall about imaginary student loans, it was City Hall.
'Help! Canadian terrorists have seized the upper storeys of the building, and are holding the borough council and the statue of Lady Justice hostage!'
Bruce Willis grabbed the phone. 'We're on it. We'll be there in five, unless the traffic's too heavy. What are their demands?' He hung up the phone, looking grim.
'What do they want?' asked Dmitri.
'Something about a hockey trophy and an end to jokes ending in 'eh',' he shrugged. 'Don't worry, I'm a trained hostage negotiator.' The emergency crew rounded up their gear, gave good-bye pats of the head to a disappointed Lola, and took off in their heavy vehicles in the direction of City Hall, three blocks away.
Dmitri sighed. All I wanted was a quiet day, he thought. And what do I get? Drama. I blame those people on h2g2. After picking up pizza boxes and washing coffee cups, he settled down to the organ to do something really interesting.
She smiled. "That's a very good tale, if it's true.
Did all of those things really happen to you?"
"Er…well," answered Marco with sort of a squirm.
"Not quite all, I guess. But I did see a worm."
Dr Seuss, 'Marco Comes Late'
To view the video without benefit of Pliny, go to this space/time locus.
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PS: Less than an hour after finishing this epic, Your Editor was playing the organ rather loudly. Elektra came running downstairs to answer the doorbell – which I hadn't heard, even though I was five feet from it. I don't know what the mail carrier thought. Probably, 'What a dork!'
